


Scattered Lines

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Harm, discussion of abuse, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at two men, and their journeys toward understanding the pain in the other's past.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>It started with a question Fenris hadn't been expecting.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“If you could get rid of it all, every physical mark Danarius left on you, would you?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scattered Lines

It started with a question Fenris hadn't been expecting.

“If you could get rid of it all, every physical mark Danarius left on you, would you?” Anders' voice was soft when he asked the question, as soft as his fingers as they rubbed a healing salve into Fenris' skin.

Fenris frowned, watching the mage for signs that this was something more sinister than a hypothetical question. “These marks have caused me nothing but pain, mage, do you think I'd wish to keep them?”

Anders shook his head, “Not the pain, Fenris, the marks. Make it so no one could see the lyrium in your skin, or the marks the lyrium covers. Make it so looking into a mirror there would be no sign that he'd done anything to you. Would you choose that?”

Fenris' frown deepened. The way the mage spoke, it was as if there were something more he were saying, something beyond a discussion of the marks on Fenris' skin. There was no hint, though, beyond the question itself. Beyond the way the mage was steadfastly focusing on the wound he was binding. Beyond the way his voice was light, and yet-

“It seems pointless to get rid of the marks and leave the pain, mage.”

“So, if you could get rid of the pain, but you had to keep the marks, you would?”

“Yes.”

Anders nodded, though Fenris couldn't tell if it was because of his answer or because he had finished treating the wound. “Well. Looks like that's all for today, Fenris. Remember to change the bandage before you go to sleep, and when you wake up.”

“Of course.” Fenris paused, watching the mage put away the salve and extra bandages. He wanted to ask why, why the mage was so interested in Fenris' scars, but there was a cough at the door before he could commit to it.

“Chokedamp again?” Anders asked the person now entering the clinic. Fenris knew the mage would be completely focused on this other patient now. If he wanted answers, it would have to wait.

\- - -

When Fenris invited Anders to join diamondback night at his mansion, he had meant to use it as an excuse to talk to the man. A way to get the mage somewhere Fenris would feel comfortable asking about the questions the mage had brought up, about why the man had asked those questions.

He hadn't anticipated Isabela.

The mage had lost his money, getting ready to leave before the others, and Fenris had been about to offer him a loan of enough coins to cover a few more hands. After all, he reasoned with himself, it was all in fun anyways, they all knew the mage spent every spare coin on his clinic, his manifesto, his mage rights. In all likelihood, Varric or Hawke had funded his playing tonight anyways. But before he could make the offer, Isabela had spoken up, a tease in her eyes as she looked around at the players. 

“Well, we could change the stakes of the game. Not just for sweet-cheeks here, of course. Let everyone keep what coin they have left. And instead, loser of each hand loses an item of clothing! Should be fun times all around.”

The table was silent for a moment, Donnic and Sebastian looking at each other before giving their consent with shrugs. Fenris made no move to answer, though, his eyes fixed on the mage, the one the offer had been made for to begin with. Anders' cheeks were flushed, and, to Fenris' surprise, he met the warrior's gaze as he gave a small nod.

“We decided, then?” Isabela asked, turning to Fenris as she shuffled the cards. With a sigh, he nodded.

Fenris had meant to keep his eyes to himself. It wasn't as if he had been eager to see his companions in their smalls. That was Isabela, who leered and teased and even lost a few hands as the night went on. But the more skin Anders revealed, the more Fenris found himself struggling not to stare. It wasn't even a matter of finding the mage attractive, it was all about finding the mage's skin without a single flaw. There were no signs of the fights they had been in, the battles Hawke had led them through. As another piece of cloth was removed from the ensemble, Fenris was reminded of the conversation overheard about the deep roads, the warden, the way Anders and Justice had had to fight for their lives so many times. And yet, there was that skin, without a single mark to show for it. 

It wasn't until his third straight losing hand that Fenris decided to call enough enough. “I think,” he said, trying not to glance again at the mage, “we have all taken off enough clothing for one night. I do not wish for naked friends in my home.”

Isabela gave an exaggerated sigh, “Oh, but I was looking forward to being able to win the bet with Varric on the color of everyone's smalls!”

Sebastian's cheeks flushed as he reached for his shirt. “Not a moment too soon, Fenris, thank you.”

“Spoil sport.”

Fenris just rolled his eyes, pulling on his own shirt. Donnic and Sebastian were almost fully dressed already, and that made him pause, eyes falling to Anders again. Anders had fared the worst, all told, stripped down to just his leggings. But the way Isabela had been playing- Fenris looked away from the dressing mage, eyes wide as he looked at the pirate. She was smirking in a way that meant she had known exactly what she was doing, making sure Anders got the worst hands. The wink she gave as she linked arms with the two warriors only confirmed it.

“Now, why don't you two walk me home. I'm sure Fenris will be able to get Anders to darktown safely, and it looks like he'll be a while.”

“Go ahead,” Fenris sighed with the wave of his hand, trying to force down the flush that was threatening to come to his cheeks. He knew he sounded eager to keep the mage here, he knew it sounded like he was indeed planning to do what Isabela implied. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way it was nearly identical to what he wanted to suggest anyways, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. “I'll keep the mage from harm.”

Only a murmur of consent from Anders had Donnic nodding, leaving with the other two.

When the solid thud of the front door was finally heard, Fenris breathed a sigh of relief, letting out a nervous breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. When it was echoed on the other side of the room, he turned, surprised. 

Anders met his gaze with a small smile, his shirt still held in his hands. “As much fun as those three are when playing cards, I'm glad not to have a bigger audience for this.”

Fenris felt his cheeks darken. “I didn't plan to watch you dress, mage.”

“Did you plan on me staying undressed, then?” Anders asked with a wink as he pulled on the shirt. “But I suspect you have reasons other than looking at me that you invited me tonight.”

“I-” Fenris paused, swallowing past the lump of embarrassment in his throat. “I wanted to ask you, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you ask me about my scars, about if I wanted them gone?”

It was Anders' turn to pause, the belt halfway around his waist. “It was curiosity. Nothing more.”

“In that case, why don't you have any scars, mage? I have seen you grievously injured. I know how much magic it takes for a mark-less healing. Are you that vain?”

“I-I was. I've always been gifted at healing, and in my younger days, I put a lot of effort into erasing every mark. No matter what they did to me, I could wipe my skin clean. I think some of them saw it as a challenge, to try and leave me a reminder of my punishment. I got very good at knitting my own skin back together, maybe too good. Now, well, I hardly even have to think about it to leave the skin without a mark.”

“You-” Fenris paused, a frown growing on his face. “How often did you need to heal yourself for it to become second nature to leave no scars on your skin?”

Anders gave a soft laugh, “No, the first I will allow for curiosity, tit for tat. More than that, and you have to admit to caring about what happened to a mage before I give an answer.”

“There's nothing else you wish to ask me about my markings?”

“Not out of idle curiosity, no.”

“Are you saying you care about me, mage?”

Anders looked up from the buckles he was securing, meeting Fenris' eyes. “I'm saying there's more than just curiosity that makes me want to know about your scars.” There was openness in his eyes, and something defiant. 

Fenris found himself speechless in the face of that stare that dared him to make light of the mage's confession. “I- I think there have been enough questions, tonight.”

Anders' gaze softened at that, giving a nod as he pulled on his boots. “It's a long walk to darktown after midnight. Leaving sooner rather than later is probably for the best.”

\- - -

“Mage,” Fenris' voice was soft as he broke the silence between them. They weren't alone this time, it was no private moment in an empty clinic or mansion. They were on Sundermount, Hawke and Isabella already asleep while the two men kept watch. “Did you mean what you said, earlier?”

Anders started at the question, looking up at Fenris over the dying flames of the fire. “Did I mean what, earlier?”

“That you-” Fenris swallowed roughly before letting himself meet Anders' searching gaze. “That you considered ending your life, because of the circle.”

“I did.” Anders' paused after that short phrase, giving Fenris a critical look before he continued. “Not early on, of course. When I was young enough to believe in escaping for good, when I didn't understand what the Harrowing meant, it never crossed my mind. Not until after they caught me when I tried to swim across the lake. 

“Beatings, they weren't hard to endure as punishments. Bruises, lashes, they can heal. But before that attempt, there had been at least a taste of freedom every now and again. Fresh air. Sunshine. That got taken away after that, and not just for me. A whole group of mages were out that day, and I was the only one who tried to escape, and they still punished the entire tower for me. That was the worst part, hearing others, children, talk about how they missed flowers and wind and sunshine.” Anders fell quiet at that, looking away from Fenris and into the fire. There were hints of blue around his eyes, cracks that would have been invisible if it weren't for the darkness around them. “That was the first time they brought up tranquility as a punishment, too.”

There was something about Anders' tone that made Fenris want to make his way to the other side of the fire, to put an arm around the man. But the same thing that urged him to comfort warned him of the dangers. Justice was there, visible beneath the surface, and Karl was there, too. Not as visible, but in the years after their meeting, Fenris knew how often the word tranquility meant more than that to the mage. “What had it been, before?”

Anders gave half a bitter laugh. “It had been called protection, usually. 'A way to keep weak minds safe from demons,' that's the line they like to go with. All it does is let them use mages as slaves, taking away their choice for the rest of their lives. You've seen those in the gallows. Talking about being beaten for being honest, and even that isn't more than a fact of their new life.”

“That I-I did not know.”

Anders shrugged, glancing up again at Fenris. “I guess I don't know why I expected you did. Tevinter isn't the type to strip mages of their sense of self, not in a way perfected by the chantry here.”

“No, they aren't.” Fenris' fingers twitched against his thighs, itching to do something more than simply sit and listen, but afraid of what might happen if he did. This wasn't a topic safely skirting topics that caused pain. It was raw in a way Fenris knew he should have expected, but hadn't.

“More than the threat of tranquility, though, was the fact they had just sent Karl away. Thinking about what I might do without him, without even the chance for fresh air, had been the first time escaping on my own terms came to mind.

“And after, well. After, it was always there in the back of my mind.”

“Is it, still?” The question was out of his mouth before Fenris could think to hold it in. He wondered if Anders could hear the worry there, the concern. The recent weeks flashed through his mind. A trip into the sewers, this very trip to Sundermount. And Anders, sitting across from him, baring his past as if the protests that had been there several months ago didn't matter anymore. 

“Not in the same way,” Anders said after a moment of silence, his eyes focused on Fenris, watching his reactions. “I'm not just me anymore. There's Justice, and he- well, death would only be an option as a martyr's death. He would only accept it as a means to an end, a protest. A means to help force change. No more quiet death of my own choosing, with him around.”

It took a moment for the words to soak in, for Fenris' mind to catch up with what the mage was saying, with how calmly he spoke, with how the mention of a martyr's death seemed to diminish the blue cracks that had formed over those sharp cheeks. “Anders...”

Maybe it was something in Fenris' tone, or something about the way he was staring so openly, but Anders was looking away again. “I think I'm going to go try and sleep, now. Thank you, Fenris.”

As the mage stood, Fenris did also, finally taking the steps around the campfire to take one of Anders' hands in his own. “Do not be a martyr, Anders, please.”

The sad smile Anders gave Fenris in return was enough to bring a sharp ache to the warrior's heart. “I think my chance at not being a martyr ended the day I became an abomination in so many people's eyes.”

“Anders-”

“Goodnight, Fenris.” Anders gave his hand a gentle squeeze before tugging it away, ducking into the tent.

“Goodnight, Anders.” The words were soft, apologetic as Fenris swallowed around the lump in his throat before moving back to his seat on the other side of the fire.

\- - -

Fenris tensed at the sound of someone pounding on his door. He didn't know who it could be. Hawke had watched him go, hadn't made any move to follow. Varric and Isabela, they knew better. 

He shook his head, focusing again on scrubbing the blood from his hands. It wasn't coming off. Not Danarius', not Varania's. He scrubbed at it harder, hardly even noticing the pain of it as he scratched at the red stains with his fingernails. “No. You gave me your marks before. You don't have the right to mark me in your death, too,” he muttered as he worked.

“Fenris-”

The suddenness of the voice speaking behind him had his brands flaring to life, a snarl on his face as he turned. Seeing Anders -the mage, the abomination- standing there, he could feel the fury pooling in his stomach, hot and cold in equal parts. “Breaking in to my house now, mage?” he spat the word like it brought a foul taste to his mouth. “Do you wish to die tonight, too?”

“I- I didn't come here for you to murder me, Fenris. I came here because I heard what had happened and I- I wanted to be sure you were okay.”

Fenris just stared at Anders for a moment, searching his face for signs it was a lie, a ploy, another trick by a mage to hurt him. Instead of that, he saw open compassion and empty hands. That made him pause, the lack of a staff on the man, long enough to notice the coat was gone as well, leaving the man in a ratty tunic and threadbare trousers. Even the mages boots were gone. It was as if- as if the man had done his best to disarm himself, short of tying his own hands behind his back. “You expect me to believe that? That you heard what had happened, and only came here out of concern? Not as an excuse to preach at me about how “not all mages” are corrupt and aim to hurt?” Fenris spit the accusation as he backed away from the man, tearing his eyes away to look at his own bloody hands. He had killed for his freedom, and it just left his hands feeling dirty once more.

“You just killed a man who enslaved you for years and literally changed you to suit his purpose. And a woman who was willing to see you made miserable for her own selfish reasons. And they were mages. And you were right to kill them.”

“And if I killed you, too? For being a mage?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, silence stretching between them until Anders finally moved, taking a small step toward Fenris. “Then I would be sad that you still see me as a mage first instead of a fr- a companion. After all we've gone through, I had hoped to be thought of as a companion first, and a mage second. And- no.

“I didn't come here to plead a case for my life. I came here to ask if you would let me help you. Whether you think of me as mage first or not, it doesn't matter. If you kill me, well, I just hope that it brings you peace and lets you stop hurting yourself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Fenris took another step back, his heels running into the base of the washbasin's cabinet.

“Look at your hands.” There was something pleading in Anders' voice that made Fenris frown. He had been looking at his hands, he was still. Stained red with the blood of his sister and his master -no, not his master, never again-. “Look at them, Fenris. The only blood left on them is your own.”

That made Fenris look up again, narrowing his eyes at Anders. “My own-”

“Look.”

At his insistence, Fenris did again, eyes widening as he recognized the signs of torn skin. Skin that hadn't been hurt in the battle. “I don't-”

“May I heal them?” Anders interrupted him, his voice soft, another step taken with his hand outstretched. “I can go grab an elfroot potion, if you don't want magic to touch you right now. But please, let me heal at least this. I can't make the lyrium markings go away, but that man doesn't deserve to have you give yourself pain over him, too.”

Fenris paused at those words, the memories of their past conversations coming unbidden to him. “Anders. Was it really curiosity that had you asking about my scars?”

It was Anders turn to pause, to shuffle, his hand dropping slightly again toward his side. “Yes. No. Not just curiosity. I'm a healer, for all I'm on the path I'm on. And you, there's so much pain, Fenris. Every time you look at your hands, you flinch. Did you know that? I just- I wish I could change that for you. No one deserves pain like that. Now, will you let me heal this?”

Fenris gave a slow nod, jumping slightly when it led to the mage moving to kneel at his feet before taking Fenris' hands in his own, healing magic gently brushing over them. It didn't go too deep, though, or maybe it went far deeper than Fenris expected, because his hands stopped hurting, and then his arms, his chest and back, too. “Mag- Anders. What are you doing.” It wasn't a question the way he said it, but Fenris already knew the answer. -If you could get rid of the pain, but you had to keep the marks, you would?- That question had been asked months ago, and here he stood, his marks soothed by healing magic that seemed to be carefully skirting away from the lyrium in a way even Anders hadn't been able to before.

“Think of it as an apology for every time I preached at you. For every “not all mages” that ever passed through my hypocritical lips. For every moment I was too consumed by thoughts of Justice to stop and listen and realize not all, but yes, the ones in your past. Practically all that you knew. And for not acknowledging that even once, I'm sorry. This may be the only night I can do this, but on the night you killed him, you ought to be as free of pain as you are of him.”

Fenris gave a small laugh, more out of shock than amusement. “Anders. You don't even know-”

Anders shook his head. “I don't need to. Not to know that I should have been better. That six years is too long to act as if what happened to you didn't matter. Because it did. Knowing details shouldn't be required, especially not for me.”

Silence fell between them at that, Anders working, and Fenris lost in thought. He hadn't expected this from the mage, this calm acceptance, this effort to make something right. 

Something in his stomach clenched. He hadn't expected the man to believe him without the same talk of his past he had given Hawke. It hadn't taken those moments for Hawke to gentle towards him, but Hawke had always been gentle, with all of them. Not lashing out at Merrill's blood magic, not judging Isabella when she left. Anders, though, had his demon, had his fight for freedom, and in his place... In his place, Fenris knew he had needed to hear the mage's story to believe him.

“Thank you.” It was an echo of words Fenris had said before, to other friends he had trusted enough to share his past with, his vulnerability with. For all they had grown closer, Fenris knew he could not share that with him yet, not tonight when he could still feel the tackiness of his old master's blood on his fingers. Not tonight, no. But standing here, with the gentlest magic he had ever felt soothing his skin, with calloused fingertips pressing against the newly healed skin of his palms, Fenris knew he would share his story with the mage one day, so long as the man lived long enough to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of those who gave me support when writing this. Your kind words mean the world to me. Especially with subject matter that hits so close to home in my own life.
> 
> <3
> 
> There's even [beautiful fanart](http://mago-emplumado.tumblr.com/post/147927760668/little-doodle-for-dirtycorzaharkness-and-her-fic) of this done by kveijum on tumblr. It is so beautifully done. Thank you.


End file.
